Kisses In the Dark
by Hidge
Summary: Santana Lopez fixes other people's problems for a living while trying not to dwell on her own. She used to work in the White House and not even her closest, most trusted friends know why she walked away from the job she worked so hard for. But Brittany Pierce does. Brittana fic with lots of other characters and relationships.
1. Today Will Be a Good Day

**A/N: So here it is. My first posted 'not a one shot' Brittana fic. I have another in the works but let's stick with this one for now. It was inspired by my Scandal rewatch so if you're a fan of the show, you'll notice some similarities. This fic should have lots of drama. Hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – Today Will Be a Good Day**

Santana Lopez breezed into her office in her favourite, most expensive outfit with a smile on her face. She loved this black, Prada skirt and matching blazer, and the red, silk blouse that she always paired with it. This outfit made her feel powerful and badass, and whenever she wore it, she had a great work day. She was in a particularly good mood this morning, which is why she had chosen her very favourite outfit to wear. Her early morning workout had been incredibly satisfying, she had even gotten in a few laps in the pool. She had cooked herself a big breakfast and had gotten through all the important newspapers before leaving her apartment. The coffee that was waiting for her on her desk also gave her a very good feeling about the day that she was going to have.

"Who's sucking up?" She called out. "Who brought me coffee?"

"Mornin' hot stuff," her favourite annoyingly familiar voice cooed from the doorway.

She spun around and smiled in greeting at Puck in his ripped, black t-shirt and dirty jeans with that stupid mop of hair on his head. "Good morning, Puckerman. You're in early."

"Couldn't sleep," he shrugged.

She furrowed her brow and frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Nothing I can't handle," he answered briskly.

She felt the urge to press and prod, to find out exactly what was bothering him, but she pushed it back down. If something was really troubling him she knew that he would tell her…eventually.

"Quinn's on her way," he spoke. "She texted me a few minutes ago. Artie should be here soon too, and well, we know Sebastian is always late."

Santana chuckled to herself. "Yes, we do." If he didn't look so good in a suit and wasn't such a smooth talker, she would have fired him years ago. "He better be ready for today though!" She exclaimed as she sat behind her desk and lifted the screen of her laptop.

Puck made himself comfortable in her office as well. He sat down on her comfortable sofa and kicked his feet up. "What's pretty boy doing today?" He asked with a puzzled expression.

"Interviewing candidates for a job! Today is gonna be a good day," she told him with an excited grin.

He chuckled, "You're in a good mood."

"It's gonna be a good day," she repeated confidently.

"Wow, she is in a good mood," Quinn whistled as she stepped into the room with her coat still on and her bag over her shoulder.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Don't sound so surprised, Q."

"Of course I'm surprised," the blonde quipped. "I don't remember the last time that I saw you smile."

Santana plastered her biggest, most forced smile on her face just to prove a point. "You can't kill my vibe, Quinn. Not today!"

Quinn smiled, because seeing Santana excited about something was nice, and rare, but that smile quickly fell when she saw two large men in suits with earpieces step out of the elevator just beyond the main doors of the office. "Uhh…Puck," she began nervously, "we have unexpected company."

He jumped to his feet while Santana lifted her head. "Who is it, Q?"

"Uhh…they look like—"

Puck interrupted her as he stepped into the hallway and sized the two men up. "They look like Secret Service."

Santana froze and she felt a cold shiver run down the length of her spine. So much for her great day.

* * *

Santana had been summoned to the White House and she did not hide her supreme displeasure. She told the Secret Service agents, Billy and Ryan, who she simply referred to as "the goons" that the President didn't have the right to summon her to the White House anymore.

She stepped into the Oval Office with an exaggerated huff and crossed her arms. The only people in the room were her, Will Schuester, who was the President's Chief of Staff, and the President. She stared at the President standing behind that large, historic, oak desk and remembered why running that campaign had been so easy. Tall, blonde, blue eyes, a well toned and well shaped body, unequivocally attractive and physically, a campaign manager's dream. Sure, the words ditzy and dim had been brought up in the press and used by the opposition, but she had been able to spin that. She had made it endearing and relatable, a true candidate of the people. The Presidential candidate with a heart of gold.

It really had been a dream campaign until…

The President finally spun around to face her and the look of relief was unmistakable. "God, Santana, thank you so much for coming!"

"Well, I didn't really have much of a choice, did I?" She grumbled.

That made the President look at least a little sheepish. "I'm sorry about that. I know that I shouldn't have done it, but I just...I…I panicked!"

She took a deep breath to compose herself before she walked further into the room and slipped into full professional mode. "What can I do for you, Mr. President?"

He pushed his hair off of his forehead, in what she recognized as a nervous tick. "Call me Sam. You know I hate it when you call me Mr. President."

She effectively ignored him. "What can I do for you?"

Samuel Evans, the tall, blonde, former Senator from Tennessee with model good looks, stared at her with a fearful expression and she knew that she had never seen him so scared. Not even when they had been down sixteen points in the general election. "It's not true, Santana. It's not."

The brunette turned to the other man in the room with curious eyes. "What's going on Schue?"

"There's a woman from Tennessee who is claiming that she had a fling with the President when he was in the Army. She's going to claim that her eighteen-year-old son is his."

Santana's eyes widened. "And the press?"

"Hasn't gotten wind of it," Will answered quickly, "but we know that it's only a matter of time. We most likely have a very small window."

"Okay," she said calmly. Santana pulled her cellphone out of the pocket of her blazer and shifted through her contacts. "I'll get my team on it. We'll find her, get a paternity test, figure out what she wants. Whatever it takes."

Before Santana could bring her phone to her ear, Will spoke again. "There's more, unfortunately."

"Well," she chuckled humourlessly. "It can't be worse." Neither man spoke and it made her grit her teeth in anger. "It's worse?" She questioned in disbelief.

"It's worse," the older man confirmed timidly.

"How could it possibly be worse?" Her voice was loud enough that it got her point across but low enough that no one could accuse her of yelling at the President of the United States.

"We think that the First Lady is having an affair."

"But it's not true," Sam added fervently.

The phone in Santana's hand now had a connected call and she could hear Quinn's voice calling her name.

But she couldn't hear anything. She couldn't hear Quinn frantically calling her name, worried that something had happened to her. She couldn't hear Will Schuester asking her what their next step should be, and she certainly couldn't hear the President repeating that the rumours couldn't be true and sounding as if he was on the verge of tears. She had frozen, even more so than when Quinn had uttered the words "Secret Service", and she had lost the ability to hear when she had heard just two words. Two words much scarier than Secret Service or The President.

First Lady.

She had left the White House for a reason. She had resigned from her very important, very influential job in the highest office in the land for a _reason_. She had lost herself. In these hallowed halls, around these people, she had lost herself. And she liked her life now. She liked her lonely apartment with her indifferent cat, and barely slept in bed, and expensive clothes. She liked her job where the richest people in the country called her and she made their problems seemingly disappear. She liked her band of misfits that she considered her family. And she could not get sucked back into this world.

"I can't take this case," she finally spoke in a shaky voice.

The two men turned towards her, one with an expression of shock and the other just looked sad.

"I won't take this case," she said in a much firmer voice. "You'll have to call somebody else in this power hungry town," she added as she spun on her heel. "I'm sure you'll have no problem finding someone ready and willing."

Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard the voice of the man that she had once considered one of her very closest friends.

"Santana, please," Sam begged.

"I'm sorry, Mr. President," she forced out before she left.

* * *

 **A/N: Please review! And feel free to ask questions :)**


	2. Game Changer

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This chapter is much longer so I hope you enjoy :)**

 **Just to let you guys know, there won't be a lot of Bram in this story. Sam is important in this story obviously because he's the President, but more of the focus will be on his complicated friendship with Santana, not on his marriage to Brittany.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from Glee!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2 – Game Changer**

Santana decided to walk back to her apartment. The goons had offered her a ride but she had turned them down, she needed the walking time to think. So she strutted through the West Wing and out of the White House, and she ignored the familiar stares and curious looks. She was certain that they were all wondering the same thing. Why is Santana Lopez in the White House? Is she back to work?

What's wrong?

Because if she was around then something was probably wrong. People like her generally didn't hang around because things were going well.

She passed Tina Cohen-Chang, who had taken over her job when she had resigned, and she ignored the look of jealously tinged with just a hint of fear. She also ignored Press Secretary Mike Chang when he opened his mouth to say hi. She offered the First Lady's Chief of Staff, Marley Rose, a small smile and instantly regretted it. Marley, caring and loyal, would no doubt report back to the First Lady that she had seen her and that they had exchanged smiles, and that would definitely come back to bite her in the ass.

She picked up her pace and was out of the shadow of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue before her cellphone began to ring. She was not surprised to see the caller ID as Will Schuester.

"I'm not coming back and I'm not taking the case, Schue," she answered in the place of a standard greeting.

" _Santana,_ " he sighed on the other end of the call. " _It has to be you. You're the best._ "

"I know that," she responded confidently. "Doesn't mean that I'm taking this case."

" _In four weeks he's going to announce his campaign for re-election. We need you. We need you to make him a two term President._ "

She argued, "You don't need me. He can run on the strength of his first term and he'll be fine."

" _We need you to fix the one thing that could taint his first term. She listens to you,_ " he added after a pause. " _She'll talk to you. She'll tell you the truth._ "

Santana stopped walking and inhaled sharply through her nose. She didn't have anything else to say and apparently Will didn't need her say anything else either. He knew exactly what to say to her.

" _Come on, Santana. We made him. Me, you, and Brittany. Let's get the dream team back together and win another election. Do you remember how fun it was last time? Remember the rush? Remember what a mess he was before you walked into that room? Sixteen points down! Sixteen! But you changed the game! And we need that kind of gameplay again._ "

The line was silent and she knew that Will was patiently waiting for her to react, to reminisce. But she couldn't give him any further ammunition.

"Goodbye Will," she whispered before she ended the call.

* * *

 _The Campaign Trail, Washington, D.C. – 4 Years Ago_

"I don't get it," Sam mumbled to himself as he ran a hand through his hair. "Why are my numbers down in Virginia? The debate went well, right? Virginia should be a lock. Right?" He asked in confusion as he looked around at his staff.

"It's because you're boring," a voice from the back of the room called.

Every pair of eyes in the room turned towards the petite Latina who had just walked through the door.

"Excuse me?" Sam asked timidly.

"You're boring," she repeated. "You won the GOP primary on your record and your family values. Your choice of VP locks up the red states and gets those who call you a neo-conservative to vote for you. With Anderson as your opposition, your shot at historical blue states is zilch, so you need to go after the swing states, Nevada, Colorado, Ohio," she elaborated, "and to them you are _boring_. You have a nice body, military service, and the perfect Republican family, and they don't care about any of that. They want to hear about how you led UNC to a Final Four run and how you helped raise your two younger siblings because your parents were too busy crusading and changing the world. They want to hear you gush about your beautiful, exuberant wife and her dancing career, and they want to see you play the guitar on national television. They want to see you as the guy they could hang out with and invite to their backyard BBQ. You're running for President, give them something to get excited about," she implored. "And you need to take a firm stance on a big issue," she added with a sigh. "Sometimes you're a little wishy-washy. You need to talk about women's rights, race issues, immigration laws, gun control, something. After that, maybe your numbers will go up in Virginia, and New York, and Ohio, and Nevada. Maybe after that we can win this election."

The silence that followed made Sam even more confused. He looked around at his staff and their reactions stunned him. His wife looked impressed, in awe even, and Will had the biggest grin on his face.

"Sam," his Chief of Staff spoke, " _this_ is who I told you about. She is _brilliant_."

"Who are you?" Was all that Sam could ask.

"Santana Lopez," she answered briskly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Senator Evans."

The room cleared quickly, her presence having an immediate effect on the campaign workers, and after a gentle pat on the back, Sam left as well, leaving just her and Will Schuester in the room. He turned to her with a wide smile and outstretched arms and she gave him a quick hug. She had never been much of a hugger.

"It's good to see you, Schue," she admitted.

"It's great to see you," he answered with a chuckle. "I know that you've been doing well because I still see you all over the news. So," he began after a deep breath. "What do you think of our guy?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully before she responded. "He's got a decent record and a nice head of hair. Tall, which is good. Lots of energy if he figured out what to do with it. Bit of a trouty mouth and sometimes he sounds like an airhead, but his education proves that he is definitely smart. What do you like about him?"

Will shrugged before he answered honestly. "He's an idealist, a dreamer, he wants the best for everyone. He's just a good guy."

"Then I'm in," she stated firmly. "There are not enough good guys out there." He laughed triumphantly before he made a move to engage her in another hug. She raised her hand and took a step backwards. "Slow down, Schue. He's still boring. You can hug me again when we win this election."

* * *

Kitty Wilde stepped into the restaurant and gravitated towards the man in the corner booth with slicked back hair and a really nice suit. "You must be Sebastian Smythe?"

He nodded as he stood up to shake her hand and then gestured for her to take a seat across from him. "Let me get you a drink. What'll it be?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Isn't this a job interview?"

"All the more reason to drink," he quipped. "So what would you like? I'm drinking whiskey," he said as he raised his glass. "Would you like one as well? Or a scotch? Champagne? Bourbon? What about a beer? Keep it casual," he pressed.

"Gin and tonic," she finally answered.

Sebastian grinned. "That's more like it." He motioned for the waiter to come over and he placed her drink order. "So let's cut to the chase," he began once her drink was delivered. "Why do you want to work for Santana Lopez?"

"Isn't that obvious?" She retorted. "Every lawyer in this town wants to work for Santana Lopez. What I can't figure out is why Santana Lopez wants _me_ to work for _her_?"

Sebastian chuckled, "It probably has something to do with that attitude. That's why she hired me."

"Why else did she hire you?" Kitty probed curiously after taking the first sip of her gin and tonic.

He finished his drink before he answered. "Santana Lopez may be a top dog but she loves to take in strays."

Kitty furrowed her brow in confusion and bristled at the implied accusation. "I'm not a stray. I have a law degree from Stanford. I have two loving parents that live in a large, practically mansion sized home in Palo Alto, and I have an older sister that I talk to at least three times a week. I have people," she emphasized, "I'm not a stray dog."

Sebastian wasn't offended or caught off guard by her defensive response. He had acted the same way when Santana and Quinn had approached him with a job offer. "Look Kitty, I don't know what your story is but she's rescuing you for a reason. She did it with me, and she did it with everyone else that works with her, and she always has a reason. Look," he paused and placed his hand flat on the table between them. "I don't know you and I don't know your story but I know that you want this job, and what you need to know is that this isn't just a job. It's a lifestyle. It's a game changer. It will change the way that you look at the world. You take this job and you get a new family. That's what you need to consider before you say yes or no. Or," he dragged out as he pulled a pen out of the pocket inside his suit jacket and reached for a nearby napkin. "You can consider this." He scribbled a number on the napkin and pushed it towards her. "Your starting salary."

The blonde's eyes widened as she looked at the number. "Yowza."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "but you will definitely earn it. So, what do you say?"

Kitty gulped and nervously drummed her fingernails on top of the table. She knew that this wasn't just any ole, regular job at a law firm. This was a job with Santana Lopez & Associates. She wouldn't be making coffee and filing paperwork, or handling stupid 'my neighbour's hedges are too high' civil suits and taking minutes at divorce settlements. She would be doing…well, she would be doing whatever it is that they do that keeps them in the news. If she took this job she would probably end up working ridiculous hours and spending way too much time with the man sitting across from her and whoever else worked for Santana Lopez. She would definitely be stressed out and exhausted, and at the end of her rope on most days.

But she didn't go to law school to be bored.

"I'm in," she finally answered.

* * *

Santana had barely been back at her office two hours when the elevator ominously 'dinged'. She didn't need to lift her head to know who was stepping out of the elevator. Sam had summoned her. Will had called her. So there was only one other person that would reach out to her and she wasn't ready to face her yet. It had been a long time since they had spoken and there was a reason for that. She heard the sound of nice shoes on the hardwood floor and she looked up from her place at the conference room table to meet the gaze of the person standing in the doorway.

The young Secret Service agent stood at just over six feet tall and his shaggy brown hair had been cut since the last time that she had seen him. This haircut was much more professional and his jaw was still strong and chiselled, but it couldn't hide that boyish charm or the grin that accompanied it.

She greeted him with a raised eyebrow and a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Ryder."

"Miss Lopez," he returned with a nod.

"I assume that the First Lady is standing behind you."

He nodded again. "You would be correct, ma'am."

Ryder stepped aside, allowing Brittany Susan Pierce Evans to step into the conference room.

And of course she looked annoyingly, devastatingly beautiful. When Santana had first joined the Evans campaign, she had thought that it was a tad ridiculous the way the media harped on the senator's wife's appearance. They talked about her legs and her eyes, and her old Hollywood features. Santana had even rolled her eyes at some of the tacky articles, but then she had met the woman, and she knew that all of the physical descriptions in the media didn't do her an ounce of justice.

She tilted her head to the side slowly and looked at Santana with a soft smile. "Hi."

All that Santana could do was say the same thing back to her. "Hi."

"Can I talk to you?" The tall blonde asked after a moment's pause.

Santana looked around at the empty conference room and gestured towards one of the available seats at the table. Sebastian was still interviewing Kitty Wilde and Puck, Quinn, and Artie went out to lunch and most likely wouldn't be back for a while. "Sure," she answered.

Brittany took a seat and Ryder stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. He had done this song and dance dozens of times before. He was giving them privacy.

"What can I do for you, Madam First Lady?" She inquired formally.

Brittany frowned, the disappointment obvious on her face. "You know I hate it when you call me that," she murmured. "And you know why I'm here."

They just stared at each other. It had been a long time since Brittany had been able to look at her, like _really_ look. She didn't count the times when she watched her on television. Those didn't count in her mind. Just seeing her on the television meant that you couldn't see just how long her eyelashes were or how perfect her skin was. She was striking on TV, but she was downright breathtaking up close. Brittany remembered the first time that she had laid eyes on her and how she had felt a tug in her stomach that she had never felt before, not even with her husband. It had instantly felt right.

"I'm not taking the case," Santana finally spoke to break the heavy silence.

Brittany frowned again. "He needs you. He thinks better when you're around."

Santana shook her head. Sam wasn't the issue and they both knew it. "No," she replied.

And so they returned to just staring at each other.

"You cut your hair," Brittany pointed out. The Latina instinctively looked down to where her dark hair fell over the collar of her shirt. "It's a little shorter than the last time I saw you. It looks nice."

"Thanks," she whispered.

"I love that blouse on you," the blonde added as her voice dropped an octave.

And that was one of the reasons why she felt so powerful in this outfit. Brittany had always loved the colour red on her.

Santana opened her mouth to respond, but as she did so she heard noise fill the hallway. She turned her head to see that Quinn, Puck, and Artie had returned from lunch, and behind them was Sebastian and Kitty Wilde. She stood up quickly and Brittany mirrored her movement. She knew that she should be thankful for the sudden appearance of her coworkers, but she couldn't help but wish that the moment had lasted longer. She rushed to the door and opened it before Ryder could block their entrance.

"The First Lady was just leaving," she said in response to Puck's curious facial expression.

"Is this place always this exciting?" She heard Kitty ask Sebastian.

Sebastian winked as they all watched the First Lady head to the elevator with her Secret Service agent in tow. "You ain't seen nothing yet, honey," he quipped.

* * *

"This is not good," Quinn murmured with a worried look on her face.

"Not good at all," Artie agreed as he wheeled up to where they were all standing.

Kitty just looked around in confusion. She was, after all, the new kid on the block and she had no idea what had them so on edge. All that she could see was Santana standing in her office and nothing seemed too crazy, at least in her opinion. She was standing facing the window, with her back to the door. She had a drink in her left hand and her record player was on. "What's not good? What's going on?"

Puck sighed as he slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "When she locks herself in her office, breaks out the tequila, and blasts Ella and Billie, it means that things are really bad. I've only seen this happen three times because of work."

"She doesn't even do it on her Dad's anniversary anymore," Sebastian added sadly.

"Do you know what's bothering her?" Quinn asked as she looked at Puck. He was the only one that had known her longer.

The man with the mohawk slowly shook his head. "You guys all saw what I saw. The First Lady of the United States showed up in this office today to ask her to take a case and she froze."

Quinn groaned in frustration as she ran a hand through her short blonde hair. "What happened between her and the President?" She asked herself quietly. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "I'm going in."

"Is that a good idea?" Kitty questioned tentatively.

"No," Sebastian answered quickly, "but she's gonna do it anyway."

Quinn placed her hand on the handle to Santana's office door and took another deep breath before opening it without knocking. She usually gave Santana her space but she was too impatient to give space right now. She needed to know what was going on. Whenever the President was involved, Quinn lost the ability to read her best friend and she hated it.

She stepped in and quietly closed the door behind her. The brunette was standing with her back to her, glass in hand, and losing herself in the music that filled her office. Quinn waited a moment before announcing herself.

"Santana."

The Latina spun around and looked at Quinn with slightly narrowed eyes. "Quinn, is there something I can do for you?"

"Is there something _I_ can do for _you_?" The blonde retaliated immediately.

Santana's eyes narrowed further. "What do you want, Quinn?" She enunciated every word slowly and perfectly and that was a tell-tale sign that she was mad.

But Quinn wasn't scared of her like everyone else was. Never had been and never will be. Quinn was one of the few people that Santana saw as her equal.

"What did the First Lady say to you? What happened between you and the President that made you leave the White House? You said no to taking a case today and I wanna know why. We aren't going to help get him re-elected, are we?" She fired a series of questions at her and did not wait for a response. "This is your call, and this is your office, and that's your name on the door at the end of the day, not mine, but you didn't even give us a say. You just said no. The First Lady showed up, you said no, and now you're drinking and your record player is on so something is really wrong."

"Nothing is wrong," Santana lied automatically.

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Something is wrong and I want you to know that you can talk to me about it."

"I don't need to talk—"

"Yes, you do!" Quinn interrupted passionately. "If this was any other client, if this wasn't President Evans, then you would take this case in a heartbeat because you talk a big game but at the end of the day, you always do the right thing. Always. So," she paused and took a long, deep breath, "you obviously need to talk about it, and you can tell me, whatever it is."

Santana just shook her head before she drained her glass and moved to sit in the chair behind her desk. "I can't, Quinn."

Quinn approached Santana's desk and spoke in a much softer voice than she had used to begin this conversation. "I know that you have a lot of things that you don't talk about, but you know that you can trust me. You were there for me…" She cleared her throat as she felt her voice thicken and tears hit the back of her eyes. "You were there for me when no one else was and as much as I hate to admit it, you're my family. You're a bitch but I love you, so if there's anything I can do for you; I need to know, so that I can do it. Santana, what can I do?" She asked desperately.

The brunette pursed her lips thoughtfully before she murmured, "Tell the President we'll take the case, but I want you to take the lead on it. Can you do that?"

Quinn nodded emphatically, "Of course, anything you need."

* * *

 **A/N: I'm a big fan of flashbacks so expect a few. Please review! :)**


	3. Like Playing Cards

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews. And I will say that if you don't like to read cheating, then don't read this. An affair is the foundation of this story.**

 **Sorry for the wait! I've had this chapter written for a long time, I've just neglected editing it.**

 **Chapter song: White Blank Page - Mumford & Sons**

 **Disclaimer: Characters are not mine :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – Like Playing Cards**

After speaking with Santana, Quinn immediately called Will Schuester and told him that they would be handling the case, with her at the helm. It was clear that he was not happy that he was talking to her instead of Santana, but he was obviously relieved that it would be dealt with by their very private, very discreet office. He gave her all the details about the woman claiming to have given birth to presidential DNA, and the next day, her, Artie, and the new girl got on a plane to Tennessee and travelled to the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

The case was relatively easy to resolve considering the spectrum of scandal that they regularly dealt with. Although the teenager definitely bore some physical similarities to the President, once the woman refused a paternity test, Quinn had had a fairly easy time explaining just how bad things would get for her, and her other children, if she took her outlandish claim to the media. Like Santana always told her, she may be a Republican Daddy's girl with a sweet smile and a soft voice, but she had graduated from Yale Law at the top of her class and she could be a cold-hearted bitch when she wanted to be. It's why the foundation of her and Santana's relationship was equally based on love and hate.

After a fraction of a second of thought, the woman had wanted a small sum of money, which they had no qualms about giving her, and the problem was solved.

It was easy. _Too easy_. So Quinn knew that something else was up. The White House wasn't up in a panic because of a possible child out of wedlock that had taken them not even a whole day to sweep under the rug. Quinn's gut was telling her that this was a distraction tactic. Maybe that woman had really believed that she had conceived a child with Sam Evans, or maybe someone had told her to believe it.

"What's going on?" She demanded as she breezed into Santana's office like a woman on a mission.

The brunette lifted her head and greeted Quinn with a sarcastic smile. "Ah Quinn! What a pleasure to see you! Took care of things in Tennessee I take it?"

"Yes, of course," she huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest. "It was a piece of cake! The new Quinn Fabray wannabe you hired could have taken care of it herself, and you probably already knew that," she accused. "So what's going on, Santana?"

"Close the door and take a seat, Quinn," Santana answered calmly.

Quinn did as she was told and took a seat on the couch. After a moment, Santana joined her and faced her with what she thought was a real smile.

"I didn't want to take this case, that is true. But I also thought things seemed too cut and dry in small town Tennessee. I sent you to see if you agreed with me." The blonde just looked at her in confusion. "The White House was worried about it, but not as worried as they are about something else."

Quinn quickly processed what Santana was getting at before she responded. "You think they created their own scandal to buy time to prevent another?"

Santana nodded. "More or less."

"Worse than an illegitimate child?" She scoffed.

"Much."

"Well what is it?" Quinn questioned in frustration.

"Will Schuester found a plain, white piece of paper from a typewriter on his desk that said 'Tell the President he should keep a closer eye on his wife'," Santana answered slowly. "They think the First Lady is having an affair." Quinn's eyes widened and Santana couldn't repress a chuckle. "I know right?"

Quinn whistled, "No wonder you were drinking tequila. That is bad."

Santana laughed again, "Yeah." She paused and shifted her position in her seat before she added, "And I don't think the First Lady knows that they know. When she was in this office the other day, she gave no indication that she knew she was in trouble."

"So who's our client here, Santana?" Quinn asked carefully.

Quinn, like Santana, knew exactly how this would go. If they agreed to work on the President's re-election campaign, then they needed to prove that this accusation was exaggerated and false. The hardcore conservatives would run to another candidate at the thought that their President couldn't control his own wife. She could already see the media outlets jumping on that storyline. How can we trust President Evans to keep North Korea, or Iran, or China in line if he can't keep his own wife in his bed? They would need to show that the President and the First Lady were the happy couple that they had been during the first campaign and that someone was just trying to tear them apart and tarnish their bond. The other option, if this accusation was true and they were committed to the President, would be to burn the First Lady to the ground. They would paint the President as the victim and the First Lady would be slut-shamed. It made Quinn's stomach turn uncomfortably but that's the way they would have to spin it. She needed to know who they were protecting. What team were they on here? Were they in campaign mode and willing to do anything for the President and his quest for re-election? Or were they, as women, going to look out for the First Lady and her reputation?

She always spoke of Santana doing the right thing; that's what she liked about working for her. Underneath that sharp, mean, exterior shell was a genuinely caring person, and she had very clearly defined morals for a successful lawyer. But how were they supposed to determine what was the right thing here? Either way they were going to feel like they were betraying someone, or some value.

Santana sighed and replied honestly, "I don't know yet, Quinn. Will Schuester hired us and that's all we know right now."

"Did you give the paper to Puck?" She asked to slightly redirect the conversation.

"Yeah, like I said it was from a typewriter. No handwriting. No fingerprints. But it had to come from inside the White House."

"So let's get to work," Quinn practically grinned.

Santana grinned back at her. "Let's get to work."

They walked out of Santana's office together and entered the conference room where the rest of the team was sitting at the long, rectangular table. Artie and Kitty appeared to be telling Puck and Sebastian about their time in Tennessee, particularly about a roadside diner where they had gotten a delicious breakfast.

"Okay," Santana interrupted with a roll of her eyes. "We have a case. Sebastian, please start to brief everyone on what we were talking about while they were eating waffles in some greasy Southern cesspool."

He stood up and clasped the button on his suit jacket with an exaggerated flourish. "Buckle in Blondie," he told Kitty playfully. "This is gonna be fun."

"So," Santana announced after Sebastian had finished and they had plastered everything that they know onto their large whiteboard. "The White House has a leak and they probably don't even know it. Let's start with who has the most access to the First Lady. Artie, get me whatever you can," she directed.

"You got it!" He replied enthusiastically before he wheeled himself back to his office full of computers and gadgets.

"Sebastian, probe your contacts at the _Post_ and the _Times_ and find out what they know, if they know anything. Take Kitty with you. Quinn, you and I are going to the White House."

Kitty eagerly followed Sebastian out of the room, but she cast a curious look over her shoulder. "Doesn't Puckerman get marching orders?"

Sebastian chuckled as he rested a hand on her back and guided her towards the elevator. "You're not ready to find out what he does yet."

* * *

Quinn had been given the task of both distracting and skillfully interrogating Marley Rose, while Santana entered the First Lady's office.

Brittany almost leapt out of her seat when she saw her guest. "Santana! You're here!"

"I am," she responded slowly.

"How was Tennessee? Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine," the brunette deadpanned.

The blonde tilted her head. She could tell by the tone of Santana's voice that something was off. "What's wrong?"

Santana carefully tested the waters of where she was guiding this conversation. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Santana didn't answer her right away and she grew frustrated quickly. "Santana, tell me."

"They hired me to look into something else," she revealed as she looked down at her shoes.

"W-what?" She stuttered. "When I came to your office, I asked you to help Sam because I remember how close you two were…I didn't mean to…it wasn't my intention to…" She stopped talking when Santana held her hand up. She hadn't been trying to use whatever feelings Santana had for her against her and she wanted her to know that. "I just want you to know that I'm sorry. I feel like I played a card I didn't have any right to play."

Santana cleared her throat and shuffled her feet. "I didn't take this case because of you, Brittany, but it's going to look that way after I tell you the real reason why Will wanted to hire me."

Brittany slowly sat back down again. "Just tell me, Santana. Please."

"They've been told you're having an affair and Will thinks you'll tell me the truth," she stated bluntly. "He's playing a card he doesn't have any right to play," she added quietly. She could hear her heart start to beat a little harder but she asked the next question anyway. "So, are you? Having an affair?"

No matter the response, the answer to that question would break her. If the answer was yes, then it meant that whatever they had done, whatever they had meant to each other, was now meaningless. She was just another notch on her bedpost. And she didn't mean that just figuratively. Brittany had once told her that her teenage bed back in her parents' home in Syracuse had actual notches on the bed frame. Meaning nothing would definitely break her heart. If the answer was no, well that was almost even worse. If Brittany wasn't having an affair then it meant that there could still be feelings, big, burning feelings that would tell her that being alone in this room was a very dangerous idea. If the answer was no, she was probably still going to end up with her heart broken.

The First Lady looked out the window to her left with wide eyes. She couldn't believe that Santana was in her office asking her that question.

"He didn't want to work with you," she murmured as she stared at nothing.

Santana took several steps closer and looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"When you first came onto the campaign," she explained, "Sam didn't want to work with you. He thought that you were too bold. Too brash. Too sexy and too liberal," she chuckled. She slowly turned to face Santana and smiled. "He thought that all those men that loved his grandfather as Governor would grunt when they saw _you_ managing his campaign. Will talked him out of it, and me too, he asked my opinion of course."

"Why are you telling me this?" The Latina asked in annoyance.

"Because," she whispered. "Can you imagine how much easier our lives would be if I had just agreed with him? Because I kinda did," she confessed. "I did think that you were too bold and too brash, and definitely too liberal, but that's what I liked about you. I liked everything about you. That was my problem. You were too good to be true."

Santana huffed and defensively crossed her arms. "Are you actually sitting there and blaming me?" She had to grit her teeth to stop herself from yelling.

"No, no of course not," she responded quickly as she stood again. "I'm just trying to work out in my head how we got to this point. You know I think better out loud," she tried to joke.

Brittany baited her and she took it. "How we got to what point?"

"Where you hate me so much that I can feel it. To the point where you hate me this much for falling in love with you."

Santana's mouth dropped open in shock. She did not expect to hear that and she did not know how to respond to it. Hate and love were two very strong emotions to be wrapped up in one sentence. What it did do was soften her attitude towards the woman standing across from her. She was carrying around a lot of rage but she would be lying if she said that any of it was directed towards Brittany.

"Britt," she whispered.

Whatever else she was about to say was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Quinn poked her head inside the office and looked at her expectantly. "Are you ready?"

Santana straightened her back and nodded. "Yeah Quinn, I'm ready. Thanks for your time, Madam First Lady," she spoke formally before she left with Quinn.

"Did she tell you?" Quinn asked in an eager whisper.

"Nope."

"Dammit!"

"I'll try again later," Santana answered firmly.

* * *

Santana spent her evening curled up on her couch with a drink and her fat cat as she surfed through news channels to make sure that none of them were breaking with the 'First Lady Affair' headline. Sebastian hadn't gotten anything from his contacts and she hoped that was a good sign. She hoped that whoever sent that message to Will Schuester had not sent a similar one to the press.

She was just thinking about getting ready to turn in when her phone rang. She assumed that it was Puck checking in on her, or Quinn wanting to run a new idea by her, or Artie with some new information, but the number was private. She furrowed her brow and tentatively answered the call. "Hello?"

She heard the sound of staggered, uneven breathing and she was about to hang up when she heard, " _Hey._ "

"Hey," she breathed back. "You're calling me. You haven't called me in—"

" _A really long time, I know,_ " Brittany admitted. " _I assumed you didn't want me to._ "

"Well apparently I hate you, so I can see where you got that idea," she quipped.

That made Brittany laugh. " _Yeah, I needed to talk to you after_ that _._ "

Santana mindlessly picked at a wayward thread on her sock before she spoke again. "I don't hate you," she whispered. "That would be far too easy."

" _Santana—_ "

She interrupted Brittany with a wince. "Please, don't. Brittany, I don't think I'm ready for whatever it is you're about to say."

" _Okay,_ " she agreed. " _Well, what about this? No._ "

"No?" Santana repeated in confusion.

" _No, Santana,_ " she said again in a much firmer voice. " _No, I am not having an affair._ "

Santana's breath hitched and she felt her cat's tail brush against her thigh. It was as if he knew exactly who was on the other end of the line. She reached forward and softly scratched between his ears. She hoped that he wasn't getting as worked up by this conversation as she was.

" _I know you're not going to believe me,_ " the First Lady continued. " _I know that you're not going to believe me until you look me in the eye while I say no, but the answer is no._ "

"Okay," she finally responded.

" _Okay?_ "

"Okay."

" _Okay then,_ " Brittany sighed happily. " _Goodnight Santana._ "

"Goodnight Madam First Lady," she replied quietly.

" _Tell the cat I said hi,_ " she added before she ended the call.

Santana placed her phone on the coffee table in front of her with a smile on her face. Brittany had called her late at night, the answer to the affair question was no, and yet here she was smiling all because Brittany had mentioned her stupid, fat cat.

* * *

 **A/N: If you enjoyed, then please review. If not, haters gonna hate. Lol. Thanks! :)**


	4. Quiet and Dark

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry for the wait. Life got in the way a little.**

 **Disclaimer: Not my characters!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – Quiet and Dark**

Santana was not surprised that she was unable to get to sleep after her phone call. She battled with insomnia on a regular basis so it was something that she was used to. However, it had been quite some time since thoughts of the First Lady had kept her up at night. Her cat was in a similar state. He was lying in the routinely empty side of her bed that he had now staked out as his space and he was just staring at her with his tail swishing back and forth. She had a feeling that they were in a standoff, but she wasn't sure what they were arguing about. Maybe he was just seeing if she would fall asleep first, as if it was a sign of her human weakness.

"LT," she spoke quietly to her dark, empty bedroom. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

The grey and black tabby blinked and readjusted his position so that his paws were tucked underneath him. The phone call was obviously keeping him up too.

"Yeah, I miss her too. But we can't tell her that."

Her suspicious, slightly obese cat was over three years old now. She had adopted him not long after returning from the Evans for President campaign trail. His full name was Leon Trotsky, which she had argued was a strong political name, rebellious because of its affiliation with Communism, but Brittany had just giggled. She had said that it didn't suit him and only referred to him by his initials, and it had caught on.

So even her cat reminded her of the First Lady.

She had been attracted to Brittany even before she had met her, that had been almost unavoidable. But she hadn't particularly liked her. She had thought that her warm, kind, sometimes clueless demeanour was a well played, well thought out act that was part of the whole Evans family value shtick. Nobody was really that nice and pleasant, right?

Upon meeting Senator Evans' wife, Santana had spent weeks waiting for the woman to peck at her like a vulture, like so many other political wives that she had worked for. She had been waiting for the blonde to play her hand, show her agenda, and when Santana believed that she had finally figured it out she had been almost paralyzed with fear.

And Santana's flight or fight response had always been programmed towards fight, she had grown up in a bad part of town and she had learned to fight at an early age. So she had confronted Mrs. Evans expecting World War III. What she ended up receiving had set into motion what ultimately led her to where she was now: lying awake in her bed in the middle of the night talking to her cat.

* * *

 _Evans Campaign Headquarters, Nashville – 4 Years Ago_

Santana felt frantic, panicked, and for the first time in a long time, it wasn't because of a client and their mistakes. _Their_ dirty secrets. She was panicking because of something personal, something that she worked very hard to keep a secret. Things worked a certain way in D.C. and due to that, she had to be a certain way. Her image was almost always more important than her client's, they just never realized that.

She found the woman that she was looking for and sidled up to her with a harsh whisper. She should act more professional and composed, but her whole body was on fire. And not in the good way.

"How did you know?" She blurted out.

The senator's wife turned to her with an elegantly arched eyebrow and a gentle smile. "How did I know what?" She could tell that the woman next to her was freaking out, she could see it in her eyes, and it instantly made her concerned. "Miss Lopez? Are you okay?" She questioned quietly. She quickly glanced around at all the other campaign workers in the room and thankfully, they were all too engrossed in their work to be paying attention to the private conversation taking place in front of them. "Come on," she murmured as she grabbed her wrist and led her out of the room. "What's wrong?" She asked again once they were alone.

The brunette looked from side to side, just to be one hundred percent sure that no one was around, and she leaned back against the hallway wall with a sigh. "How did you know?" She asked again.

"How did I know…?" She began to repeat before it dawned on her what Santana was really asking. There was only one question that would make an intelligent, professional, well put together woman like Santana Lopez this hysterical. "How did I know that you're gay?" She asked with an easygoing smile.

Santana's big eyes widened to a cartoon-like size. "Can you not _yell it_?" She asked in disbelief. "For fuck's sake," she muttered under her breath.

Mrs. Evans had made a short, casual comment at breakfast and it had been on her mind ever since. "Women must fall hard for you," she had joked as they had stood next to each other at the buffet table. Brittany had asked about her workout routine and her response to Santana's answer had been "women must fall hard for you". What kind of statement was that?

Brittany looked properly reprimanded. "Sorry," she replied before biting down on her bottom lip. "I don't think anyone heard me. I'm sorry," she repeated.

Santana huffed. "It's fine, just lower your voice." She ran a hand through her long hair before she spoke again. "So how did you know? I don't think it's all that obvious and it's not something I tell anyone. Puck knows, and Quinn, and Sebastian, but that's where the list ends. And I don't tell people because then I can't run a Republican's campaign."

"Why not?" Brittany asked in the most innocent way that she had ever heard.

"What?" Was all that Santana could say.

Brittany just smiled. "After this, everyone is going to want to hire you. You're too good, Miss Lopez."

The brunette was very clearly still shocked, whether it was Brittany's blasé attitude towards her sexuality or her confidence in her, she wasn't entirely sure, but she saw that the Latina wasn't panicking anymore. "Are you feeling better now?" Santana just nodded. "Good!" She exclaimed energetically. She made a move towards the door knob of the room that they had just exited, but Santana grabbed her wrist before she could turn it. Those pretty brown eyes were full of questions and they were hard to ignore. She rolled her own eyes playfully before she answered. "When we went out to dinner the other night I noticed you checking out the waitress, that's how I knew. That and you're kinda staring at my lips right now," she added slowly.

Santana looked away, embarrassed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to. My apologies, Mrs. Evans. It won't happen again."

Brittany believed her, and it made her feel nothing but disappointment.

* * *

Kitty walked into the office and immediately gravitated towards the music coming from Artie's office.

"Morning Wheels," she chirped.

"Morning Katherine," he returned before he resumed humming along to Michael Jackson's _Thriller_ album.

She wrinkled her nose in confusion. "My name is actually Kitty, believe it or not. It's not short for anything. My parents named me after a Bruce Springsteen song."

Artie turned to her with a happy smile. "No way! That's bitchin'!"

He gestured to the empty chair next to him and she slowly slid into it. Weirdly enough, being named after a Springsteen song had gotten her a little respect from Artie Abrams and she was willing to take what she could get. "What are you working on?" She asked as "Beat It" faded out to begin "Billie Jean". She hummed along with him as he focused on the computer screen in front of him.

"I am shifting through the West Wing logs to see who was working on the day that Will Schuester found that letter on his desk."

Kitty's eyebrows shot into her hairline. "You're on the White House server?" She spoke incredulously. "How did you do that? Is that even legal?" She added in a quieter, more sceptical voice.

He chuckled, "It wasn't easy. It took a couple all-nighters and a lot of coffee, and it's definitely not legal."

"Not legal, huh? We do that here?" She asked tentatively. She was, after all, still finding her footing here and she didn't want to offend anyone.

Artie shrugged. "I try not to think of it in terms of legal and illegal. I try to think of it as we're doing the right thing and sometimes we gotta get a little dirty." He turned towards her and looked at her seriously. "It's better to think of it that way. Trust me."

Kitty nodded in understanding. "But you're not worried about being caught?" She asked curiously.

"Nah, I know how to cover my tracks. And if not…" he trailed off with a chuckle, "I know lots of good lawyers."

Kitty agreed with him with a short laugh. "That you do."

She hadn't known them, or worked with them, that long but she had seen them all operate. Santana had mostly been sending her to tail Sebastian thus far and she had his MO down. He used wit and charm, and a boatload of charisma to get what he wanted. He practically oozed sexuality, much like his boss, and he was able to persuade both men and women into telling him what he needed to hear. Quinn Fabray wasn't quite as much of a people person. Sure, she lured people in with her sweet voice and beauty queen looks, but she could just as easily slit your throat as smile at you. It worked for Quinn and Kitty respected it. That kind of killer instinct couldn't be taught, it was born. All of the lawyers in this office had it, especially the woman with her name on the door. Kitty's old firm had faced off against Santana Lopez a handful of times where she had had the privilege of watching. The Latina was quick-witted, snarky, and almost unbearably smart. Where Sebastian was suave and Quinn was skilfully manipulative, Santana was blunt and painfully honest. There was no beating around the bush with her and what she wanted was always in clear view. Kitty respected that too. In addition, Artie was very obviously handy with a computer and he had other techie gadgets in his office that Kitty didn't have a clue how to use, and then there was Puckerman.

Kitty slowly swivelled in her chair so that she could see across the hallway and into Noah Puckerman's office. He was sitting in his chair with his feet propped up on his desk and he was tossing a football in the air. She screwed up her face in confusion as she stared at him. What the hell did he do here?

"Artie," she began quietly, "what's his deal?" She asked with her head tilted towards Puck's office.

He looked at her suspiciously but he opened his mouth to respond. "Shouldn't you be asking me what my deal is first?"

Kitty was a tad startled by that answer, but she didn't object.

"I was in a car accident four years ago. It was a hit and run. It put me in this chair. The police never found out who did it, but Puck did. Santana took my case pro-bono, she got me a huge settlement, and then she offered me a job. So whatever Puck's _deal_ is," he emphasized with a raised eyebrow, "I'm thankful for it."

The blonde digested that information before she spoke. "That doesn't answer my question."

"I know," Artie answered as he focused intently on his work.

Kitty crossed her arms over her chest and huffed in annoyance. "There seems to be an awful lot of secrets around here."

He chuckled as he fiddled with his glasses. "I was the new kid on the block here once. You'll figure it out."

Kitty was about to try rephrasing her Puck inquiry when she heard the clicking of heels and the humming of "P.Y.T.". Santana poked her head around the open office door with a smile which Kitty returned.

"Hey boss lady," Artie chirped pleasantly.

"Hey," Santana responded, "you got that list for me?"

"Yup! Printing it out right now!" He answered as he pounded the 'Enter' key on his keyboard with an exaggerated flourish.

"Perfect! I want their pictures plastered all over the conference room. I want to be able to see who exactly we're dealing with."

"You got it," Artie responded quickly as he wheeled himself towards the printer on the other side of the room.

"Thanks Artie." Santana turned towards Kitty with a smile and a wink. "And to think, I only hired him for his taste in music."

Yeah, Kitty didn't believe that for a second.

* * *

At the end of the day, Santana sat at the conference room table, alone, and stared at the 28 photographs on the wall. 28 White House employees had logged in and out of the West Wing on the day that Schue had found that note on his desk and they had to figure out who. They were starting with 28 possible suspects and they would narrow that down to just one.

Who had the motive? Who had something to gain? Who thought that they knew something that the President didn't? Santana wasn't naïve enough to think that everyone was loyal to the administration. Someone wanted to make Will's job harder, or mess with Sam, or get back at Brittany.

She thrummed her fingernails on the table top in an expression of frustration and nervous energy. She wanted to zero in on Richard Nelson, the Vice President's Chief of Staff, but she knew that that particular urge was rooted in personal bias. She hated that guy. He was a rude misogynist who had made a deal with Will during the GOP primaries so that he could get his candidate on a Presidential ticket. There was no way that Sam would have lost the nomination, but something about the rival campaign had scared Will, who was normally pretty calm, cool, and collected. It was not a decision that Santana would have made but she hadn't been on the campaign team at that point. Although when she did join, Rick, as he preferred to be called, had harassed her almost daily.

And she knew how to hold a grudge.

"As much as I want it to be Rick Nelson too, my gut tells me it isn't," a knowing voice called from the doorway.

She thought that everyone else had gone home for the night, but either Sebastian had been hiding or he had come back for something. "What did you forget?"

"You," he answered cheekily as he pulled out the chair beside her.

Santana rolled her eyes as she continued to stare at the photographs. "Sometimes I feel like you, Puck, and Quinn take turns babysitting me."

He stared at her with a completely serious facial expression. "Oh, we do. Do you want to see our schedule so you know who to expect?"

She laughed at that comeback and playfully punched his shoulder. "I can take care of myself, ya know."

He nodded in agreement, his expression still serious. "We know. But that doesn't mean that you should."

Sebastian slowly pushed her hair to one side and moved his fingers to the back of her neck.

"Sebastian," she began in a less light-hearted tone. "What do you think you're doing with that hand?"

"Remember when we used to scratch each other's itches?"

She scoffed loudly, "You mean when we were both convinced that we could be straight?"

Now it was Sebastian's turn to scoff. "Yeah. Safe to say that I've never had a more honest relationship with a woman."

Santana smiled at the admission until he took his hand back and hunched his shoulders. She could immediately tell by his silence and body language that he was thinking about his parents.

When they had first met, he had been a trust fund baby fresh out of law school with a lot of potential and a hell of an attitude. That attitude had actually endeared him to her and she had understood the chip on his shoulder. He considered D.C. to be his home but his mother had been a supermodel and his father was an ambassador so his childhood had consisted of moving around a lot and splitting time between his divorced parents as a teen. He had led a relatively charmed existence from an outsider's perspective, but coming out to his parents had ruined all of that. As far as she knew, his father hadn't spoken to him in years.

"Hey," she called softly. "Don't get all quiet and dark on me."

He quickly tried to laugh it off. "I think I just need a drink."

She didn't reply but she put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. She knew it was easier sometimes to just not talk about it. They were both pretty pro at that.

But every now and then, they leaned on each other.

Their brief intimate moment was interrupted by a knock on a door towards the other end of the office space. It had to be on the main door and that made both of them turn to the other in confusion. It was late for anyone to show up at their office. Historically, late night visitors were not good.

Santana was the one to speak first. "I got it," she said nervously as she got up out of her chair.

She walked out of the conference room and she knew that Sebastian was going to follow her. She was within five feet of the closed door before she recognized who was standing behind it. Seeing who it was did not alleviate her bewilderment. She knew him. She had hired him, she had taught him a few of her press tricks, and he had even awkwardly asked her out once. But what was he doing here?

"Mike Chang?" She questioned as she unlocked and opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I think I know why somebody sent Will that letter."

Santana's eyes widened as she also widened the gap in the doorway. "Well come in!"

* * *

 **A/N: Please leave a review! The next chapter will have 2 very important Brittana flashbacks so stay tuned :)**


	5. Fireworks

**A/N: Sorry for the wait but this is the longest chapter yet! And an important one. Warning: if you don't want to read cheating, turn back now.**

 **A few chapter songs for you: Closer - Tegan and Sara, Clothes Off - Ria Mae, Close - Nick Jonas**

 **Disclaimer: Not my characters :(**

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – Fireworks**

"Mike Chang!" Sebastian greeted with a surprised smile and a handshake. "Awful late for a visit, isn't it? You're welcome to stop by in the day," he joked.

The handsome Press Secretary chuckled and adjusted his tie. "I know I don't visit enough. I prefer to pay homage to the woman that hired me by spending time getting better at my job."

Santana sent him a wink and gestured towards the conference room. "'Atta boy, Chang. Now tell me what you know."

The three sat down at the conference room table and Mike seemed slightly intimidated by all of the photographs on the walls. He had forgotten how Santana Lopez did business.

"I see you guys are working on it," he began tentatively as he zoned in on the photo of himself.

"We are," Santana answered. "But a starting point would be nice," she added after a pause.

"I don't know who sent it; Will only told me about it today, but I think I know _why_."

"Well," Santana gestured for him to continue with her hand. "Don't just sit on this information, Chang. Tell me."

Mike Chang shifted in his chair and nervously fiddled with his tie. "It happened a couple weeks ago. It was late and I went to find Marley Rose to speak to her…about something…but I couldn't find her." He took a deep breath and trudged forward. "I knocked on the First Lady's office to see if Marley was in there. The door was already open so I just pushed it open further and the First Lady was sitting at her desk. She was upset. She was _very_ upset."

Santana narrowed her eyes as Mike paused again. This story was headed in a very obvious direction, but Brittany had told her that she wasn't having an affair so she had to believe that. Also, Mike Chang wasn't that sort of guy. He didn't take advantage of emotional women. Besides, Santana was pretty certain he still harboured feelings for Girl Chang.

"I tried to figure out what was upsetting her. I tried to calm her down at least."

That also sounded like Mike, and he and Brittany had always gotten along really well. All they did was talk about dance. They shared a lot of common ground. Mike had danced with the San Francisco Ballet before a series of injuries had forced him to reconsider his career options, and he ultimately decided to enroll at Stanford.

"She wouldn't tell me," he continued, "or at least I couldn't make sense of it. But I sat with her for several hours. We hugged and I tried to comfort her. What I'm trying to say," he exhaled, "is that to an outsider it could have looked _intimate_. It was late and most of the lights were off…"

He trailed off and Santana nodded. "Yeah, I understand. When was this exactly?" She snapped her fingers at Sebastian and he pulled out his notepad from inside his jacket pocket and promptly jotted down Mike's response. "And you have no idea what the First Lady was upset about?"

Santana knew that what she was fishing for wasn't crucial to the story or their work, but she just needed to know. She didn't like the thought of Brittany that upset.

The Press Secretary slowly shook his head. "She was crying a lot and mumbling about missing the fireworks. I think that she had had something to drink, and—"

The brunette closed her eyes and rewound Mike's words. "Wait. What?"

He turned to Sebastian to see if something he had said was of importance but the other man just shrugged. "She…uh…misses fireworks," he repeated. "It probably doesn't mean anything," he tried to clarify, "you know how she talks in metaphors sometimes."

"Yeah, I do," Santana agreed quietly.

She pursed her lips and playfully quirked an eyebrow when Sebastian turned to her with questioning eyes. She was using all of her restraint to keep her emotions in check and to not alert the two men to how she was really feeling. She listened to Mike and Sebastian as they chatted and Sebastian asked a few more questions, but her brain was racing a mile a minute and she didn't know if she could keep it together for much longer. She didn't know if she was going to burst into tears or laugh uncontrollably, but something was going to break her stoic demeanour. Soon.

"I'm just going to grab something from my office," she muttered as she stood up.

She waited until she was behind a closed door to let out a noisy exhale of breath and she touched the necklace beneath her blouse reflexively. She still wore the small, pretty, sentimental necklace with a hollow pendant in the shape of the state of New York even though she knew it should be buried at the bottom of her jewellery box.

After they had won the election, Brittany had bought all of the key campaign staff gifts. They had all been nice gifts of course. Quinn had gotten a very nice Civil War archive, Sebastian proudly wore an outlandishly expensive shirt and tie, and the autographed Joe Namath football given to Puck was displayed in his office. Outside of the fact that Santana's necklace was diamond studded and custom-made, it certainly had the most personal touch. New York was something that they shared; Santana had grown up in Brooklyn and Brittany was from upstate Syracuse. It was also something that was worn so Brittany could actually see it on her. For Brittany, Santana's mood had been easily deciphered just based upon whether or not she was wearing the necklace.

She wasn't sure why she was wearing it now.

But Mike Chang's mention of a tearful First Lady murmuring about missing fireworks made it feel like a hundred-pound weight around her neck.

Yes, Brittany often spoke in metaphors but sometimes she said exactly what she intended to say, with absolutely no hidden meanings.

* * *

 _Evans Campaign Headquarters, Nashville – 4 Years Ago_

"Miss Lopez?"

Santana sat up straight at the sound of the senator's wife's familiar voice and pushed her glass of scotch aside. She tucked her wavy hair neatly behind her ears and smiled at the woman standing in the doorway to her office. "Mrs. Evans, is there something I can do for you? What do you need?"

The pretty blonde smiled softly. "Nothing. I was just checking to see if there is anything that I can do for you. Coffee? A sandwich? You're working awfully hard."

Santana couldn't help but smile back at her, her most natural smile. One of the most fulfilling things about working on this campaign was discovering that Senator Evans and his wife were every bit as kind and decent as their media machine had painted them to be. It had really dampened her inner cynic, but it did make her job a lot easier. "I'm fine, ma'am, thank you."

"Well, can I top up your drink?" She asked with a grin. The brunette just stared at her, speechless. "And I'm going to join you," she added with a chuckle as she sat down in the chair across from her. "Do you have another glass?"

Santana remained silent as she reached into the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out another glass and the bottle of scotch that Will Schuester had given her as a token of appreciation for joining the campaign team. "Not my drink of choice," she quipped, "but it was free."

"What is your drink of choice?" Brittany asked curiously.

"Tequila," she smiled. "A cultural stereotype, I know, but it takes the edge off in a way that nothing else can."

"I'll have to remember that," she laughed softly. "I think gin is my drink of choice," she shared.

Santana poured Mrs. Evans a glass and twisted the cap back on the bottle with a smile. "Are you happy with the campaign at this point?"

The blonde nodded as she swallowed her first sip. "Very. You tell him exactly what he needs to hear when he needs to hear it. Sometimes it makes me jealous," she confessed. "The way that you can read him so perfectly…it makes me jealous."

To say that the Latina was startled by Mrs. Evan's admission would be an understatement. "I can assure you, ma'am, you have no reason to be jealous. I'm just really good at what I do."

"Can you stop calling me ma'am and Mrs. Evans and everything else that's stiff and formal? Can you just call me Brittany?"

Santana swallowed thickly and looked down at the papers littered across her desk. "I suppose I could do that."

"Excellent," she grinned. "And I'll call you Santana."

Brittany said her name in a way that no else had before and something about it made Santana squirm in her seat. "If that makes you more comfortable, ma'—" She cut herself off and cleared her throat. "Brittany."

The senator's wife looked quite pleased with herself as she tilted her head with a smile and poured herself another glass.

They drank and they chatted well into the night about things regarding the campaign and things not regarding the campaign. Santana had certainly passed her campaign bedtime and her drinks limit, but she found Brittany Susan Pierce Evans quite fascinating.

"You know," she began rather drunkenly. "You're the secret weapon and we haven't even needed to use you yet. When we do, we should have this in the bag."

Brittany laughed as she modestly placed a hand on her chest. "Me? I'm the secret weapon."

"Yeah! Of course you are," Santana responded passionately. "You're this sweet, gorgeous, All-American girl from the great liberal state of New York! You turned down a full ride academic scholarship to M.I.T. to pursue a career in dance simply because you love to dance! The American people already love you and they don't even really know you yet! When they do, it should be fireworks! The swing states will definitely swing firmly our way." The brunette sighed before she leaned back in her chair with a contented smile on her face. "Sam's likeable, but you…you're lovable."

Brittany smiled shyly to herself before she reached across the desk and cupped the Latina's face with both of her hands. The other woman gave her an odd expression, as if she was dissecting her, but it didn't deter the blonde from pressing their lips together. As much as it made her feel ashamed and embarrassed, and a tad perverted, she had been thinking about kissing the woman running her husband's campaign for months.

"Fireworks," she murmured against Santana's mouth. "Yeah, I get that. I haven't seen them in a while."

Santana stared at her in shock as she slowly licked her lips. "Ma'am, I don't…"

"It's Brittany," she corrected with a chuckle. Colour filled the lawyer's cheeks and Brittany found it incredibly endearing. "You're blushing."

Santana shook her head as she maneuvered out of the senator's wife's soft clutches. She got up out of her chair and created even more space between them. "I don't think…uhh…I…" She huffed and ran her hands through her hair in frustration. She had never felt so inarticulate in her life. "Why did you do that?" She finally asked.

The blonde just shrugged. "You look like you really needed to be kissed and I really wanted to kiss you."

* * *

Santana was unable to sleep that night, unsurprisingly. She didn't even bother to go home, she spent the night in her office and only headed back to her apartment for a shower and a fresh change of clothes. She grabbed breakfast on her way back in so she was a little late, or late by her own harsh, self-imposed standards. The only one in the office when she arrived was Puck, and so it had to be him who had let the Secret Service in.

"Ryder," she greeted. "You should have told me you were coming; I would have picked you up a coffee."

Ryder smiled at her wryly while maintaining his serious posture. "I'm fine, thank you Miss Lopez. She's waiting in your office."

Santana sighed as she looked towards her office and saw that all of the blinds were pulled down. Brittany had already made herself comfortable.

She steeled herself for whatever conversation she was about to have before she turned the doorknob and stepped inside her office. Brittany, always impeccably dressed and polished, was standing with her back to the door and she was looking through the cabinet that housed Santana's record collection. Santana tried to act like she wasn't in the room at all. She walked to her desk and lifted the cover of her laptop. She sipped from her coffee, opened her email, and turned on the televisions mounted on the wall to her left. She just went about her morning routine as if the First Lady wasn't standing a mere five feet from her.

"Ooh," the blonde cooed after a considerable silence. "I love this album. Can I put it on?"

"You're the First Lady of the United States, you can do whatever the hell you want," Santana quipped with quite a snarky tone.

Brittany didn't comment on her attitude. Instead, she carefully took the record out of its sheath and placed it on the record player.

Santana sighed as the opening of Fleetwood Mac's _Rumors_ filled the room. Brittany really did love this album.

Brittany spun around to face her with a happy smile. "I gave you this album, didn't I?"

The brunette nodded slowly. "You did. The first time you saw my record collection you said, 'what do you mean you don't own _Rumors_?'" Brittany giggled as Santana imitated her perky voice. "That's exactly how you said it too."

"I believe it," she admitted. "And I still cry every time I listen to "Songbird"."

Santana cleared her throat and dropped her gaze. She generally tried to avoid topics of conversation like this one with Brittany. "So Mike dropped by last night."

"Yes…um…I heard," Brittany answered as she shifted her feet and looked down at the floor. "That's part of the reason why I dropped by. Do you think he's right? That's why someone thinks I'm having an affair?"

"I think he could definitely be right," Santana responded diplomatically. "Unless something else like that has happened."

The First Lady shook her head as she bit down on her bottom lip. "I had a really rough day that day," she explained softly. "But no, nothing else like that has happened. Ever. At least, not in the last two years."

Brittany was again trying to impress upon her, in person this time, that she was not having an affair. Her only extramarital activity had been with her, and her alone. And looking at her right now, Santana didn't doubt her for a second. She could tell when Brittany was lying and right now she was definitely not lying.

Santana walked out from behind her desk and gingerly perched herself on the front edge. "Then we'll specifically look at who was working that night. If someone in the White House thinks that you're having an affair with Mike Chang, then we can definitely use that."

Santana was beginning to concoct various baiting schemes when she recognized the opening notes of "Go Your Own Way". She needed to finish this conversation now and turn this album off. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Can I see you?" Brittany asked nervously.

"You're looking at me right now," she joked weakly.

Brittany didn't even humour her with a chuckle. "You know what I mean." She took a step forward and she was certainly in Santana's personal bubble, but she wasn't being pushed away, not yet anyway. "Can I see you later?" She could practically feel the tension rolling off of Santana so she took a step backwards and moved towards the end table beside the couch where Santana's antique chess set was set up. Sometimes she played with Sebastian or Quinn, or people on the internet. She stared at the pieces and blinked once before she stated, "Checkmate in four."

Santana huffed, but it was playful. She forgot how fast Brittany's mind worked sometimes. The woman was quantifiably a genius; she had gotten a 2340 on her SATs for God's sake. Santana herself had only gotten a 2120. And Brittany knew that Santana hated it when she could just look at the game and so easily see the outcome. It frustrated her that she couldn't do that, but it also turned her on.

"You know I hate it when you do that."

Brittany shot her a bright, teasing smile. "I can't help it."

The brunette rolled her eyes, but again, it was playful. "Just stop being a genius for a second."

Brittany still had a happy smile etched onto her face. "I have to remember I'm a genius around you, you're too intimidating otherwise."

Santana opened her mouth, ready to comeback with something spirited and witty, but then the song changed. "I can't listen to this song," she muttered as she swiftly walked towards her record player and lifted the needle. "It's too early for this shit," she said mostly to herself.

When she spun around, Brittany was standing right in front of her. "So, can I see you later?" She asked again.

Her willpower was being tested in the cruelest way. She could feel Brittany's breath on her face and the pinky of her right hand was playing with her left. It was tender and all too achingly familiar.

What Brittany was asking her to do was very clear, you didn't have to be a genius to see the outcome of that. They had given into each other a long time ago and it had been almost impossible to turn back ever since.

* * *

 _The Campaign Trail, Denver – 4 Years Ago_

"Did you write that speech?" Brittany asked as they walked down the hallway together.

Santana turned to her with a sly smile. "Parts, not the whole thing."

"It was very good," she complimented. "It was practically perfect," she added with a laugh. She stopped in front of the elevator and pushed the button to bring it down to the lobby floor. "You're brilliant."

"Stop it," she whispered. She was a little embarrassed by the flattery, she could even feel her cheeks flush. She tapped her foot on the floor as they waited for the elevator and she felt the faintest brush of something against the hand hanging at her side. She looked down and saw Brittany's pinky extending towards hers. It was the simplest form of contact and yet it set her entire body on fire.

A pinky. A pinky was doing this to her and she couldn't believe it.

She wrapped her pinky around Brittany's as the elevator doors slid open. Then she tugged her inside, by the pinky.

"You're driving me crazy," she confessed as she grabbed the blonde's waist with her free hand. She leaned in and brushed their noses together. "Stop driving me crazy," she begged.

It had been almost two months since the kiss, or _the incident_ as she referred to it in her head. Two months of throwing herself into this campaign so that she thought of absolutely nothing else. Two months of getting closer to the Presidential candidate and fostering a healthy friendship; Will even commented that they acted like brother and sister sometimes. Two months of avoiding Brittany in any way that she could without coming off as hostile towards the senator's family. Two months of pent-up sexual tension and frustration. Two months of reimagining that one kiss and fantasizing about more.

She had never thought about someone like this before, and it couldn't have come at a worse time. She had picked the absolute worst person to fall for.

It had all been so out of her control and that's probably what bothered her the most.

"I'm sorry," Brittany exhaled. "You told me to stay away. I've been trying to stay away but it's really hard."

The senator's wife was pouting, like a child, and it just made her smile. "Stop it," she said again. She looked too kissable like that and she knew it.

"I know I shouldn't want you but I do."

Santana wasn't sure if it was the elevator coming to a shaky halt or Brittany's words that sent her staggering backwards. She took one look at the blonde, with her piercing blue eyes, before she strode out of the elevator with a purpose. She stopped at her hotel room door and was not surprised when she spun around and found Brittany standing in front of her. She spoke and it was careful and calculated, and exactly what she would say to someone else in her position.

"I'm going to go into my room now and you're going to go into your room down the hall and we're both going to act like things are exactly the way they're supposed to be, okay?"

Brittany nodded in understanding. "Okay," she agreed reluctantly.

"Okay," Santana said again, as if she was trying to talk herself into it. "Goodnight, Mrs. Evans."

"Goodnight, Miss Lopez," the blonde responded.

Santana turned to unlock her hotel room door and, as she did so, she pressed her forehead against the wood and squeezed her eyes shut. She had been impulsive as a teenager, it was something her mother had always harped on, so she had tamed it. Now, in adulthood, she would test her willpower against anyone's. She didn't do things on impulse anymore. She was a lawyer and a public relations mastermind; she weighed options and criticized decisions, she didn't do anything based on _feelings_ , which was probably why she didn't have much of a personal life. She wasn't very good with feelings.

And she had never felt like this before.

"Fuck," she swore under her breath.

She whirled around and tightly grabbed the wrist of the woman walking down the hallway. Brittany stared at her with wide eyes as she was pulled in for a fervent kiss. Brittany kissed her back with gusto and their momentum sent them tumbling back through the open door of Santana's hotel room. She desperately grabbed at Brittany's blouse while the blonde kicked the door closed behind her.

Santana was a tad stunned when she was marched across the room and pushed onto the desk. She was usually the dominant one in bed and she certainly hadn't expected the pleasant, timid blonde to be so forceful. But the woman was biting on her bottom lip and pushing up her skirt like she was definitely the one in charge. All that she could do was pant and grip Brittany's waist.

"Brittany," she moaned as she fruitlessly fought for some semblance of control.

Brittany took a step backwards, as if she had finally processed exactly what they were doing, and exhaled loudly. She caught her own bottom lip between her teeth and gently touched the tops of Santana's knees.

"Brittany?" She called shakily.

The blonde stared at her with now midnight blue eyes. When she spoke it was slow, raspy, and deliberate. "I need you to take your clothes off."

* * *

"Can I see you later?" Brittany asked for the third time.

Santana squeezed her eyes shut. "Brittany, I can't do this right now," she whispered. "Do you get that?"

Brittany nodded slowly, but she was still standing so close to Santana that they could practically taste each other. "Yeah, I get that," she whispered back. "I have a dinner meeting at the Hay-Adams Hotel this evening and after that I'm going to get a room there. Sam is leaving for his big trip to the Caribbean tomorrow and I don't want to disturb him. So maybe if you know where I'll be, you'll come see me," she proposed.

Santana forced her eyes shut again as Brittany reached forward and straightened her necklace.

"Your necklace is crooked," she murmured.

"Thanks," Santana croaked.

The First Lady finally took a step backwards and Santana felt herself able to breathe again.

"You know the fake name I like to stay under," she tossed over her shoulder before she opened the door to Santana's office. "We can leave now, Ryder," she announced.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered promptly, "after you."

Santana peeked her head around the doorframe as the Secret Service agent and the First Lady walked down the hallway towards the elevator. She met Puck's accusing glare and she gulped.

"She's been around a lot," he stated directly.

"They really want us on the campaign," she shot back quickly before she slammed her office door closed.

* * *

 **A/N: I may post the first chapter of another Brittana story that I'm working on (also very angsty), but we'll see.**

 **A review would be nice :)**


	6. A Moment of Weakness

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! I had most of this chapter written, but filling in the blanks proved to be a little challenging. I think the RNC Convention inspired me :P**

 **Same warnings! If you don't want to read about cheating then don't proceed.**

 **Chapter songs: Toxic - Britney Spears (Glee S5 version) and I think Close - Nick Jonas will be the Brittana sexy times theme for this story. Lol. Enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – A Moment of Weakness**

To say that the rest of the day passed slowly for Santana would be an understatement.

She found it hard to focus and she used all of her strength not to lock herself in her office, turn on her record player, and empty her liquor cabinet. She sent Quinn and Sebastian out of the office to do some work for one of their smaller, more low-key clients, and she gave Kitty the task of narrowing down their list of suspects that had wallpapered the conference room. Because Puck was being suspicious and acting shiftier than usual, she hung out in Artie's office and twirled a pen between her fingers as she thought and jammed to the playlists on his IPod.

"Something bothering you, boss lady?" Artie finally asked as he turned away from his central monitor.

She lazily shook her head. "Nope. Just thinking."

"About what?" He cautiously probed.

The First Lady.

"That taco truck down the street," she lied easily.

Artie chuckled, but it was obvious that he wasn't fully buying it. "Why don't we order in for lunch? Or send Puck to the taco truck," he suggested with a grin.

Santana smirked, "That's not a bad idea, Abrams."

He nodded with a happy grin before he changed the direction of his chair and rolled out of the room.

Leaving her completely alone with her thoughts.

Not that it really mattered because Brittany Pierce had never truly been far from her mind. It didn't matter that she didn't work at the White House anymore and that before all of this she and Brittany hadn't been in the same room in quite some time. It was still hard to stop thinking about the woman that had occupied her mind since they had met. The woman had that effect on everyone that she encountered, making her invaluable on Sam's road to the White House, and Santana had been just another naïve, defenceless victim.

Except for the whole 'Brittany fell in love with her too' part.

Oddly enough, that's probably what made their relationship the most complicated. If the feelings were one-sided on Santana's part, she was pretty confident that she could handle it. She was good at pretending to be something that she wasn't. But Brittany saw her for exactly who she was and for some reason that Santana couldn't explain, the blonde had pursued her. No amount of distance, or warnings, or forced bitchiness on Santana's part had been able to keep her away.

And here she was again. Coming to Santana's office, playing her favourite album on the record player, picking at her chess set, and making indecent proposals. It was no secret what they would do if Santana showed up at that hotel room. That part would be easy and so _so_ good, and definitely long overdue, but the feelings afterward would be too much.

It would be euphoria quickly followed by an onslaught of self-loathing. Guilt. Shame. Regret. Sadness. Jealousy.

She remembered those feelings so clearly after their first time and yet they had done it again, and again, and again.

* * *

 _The Campaign Trail, Denver – 4 Years Ago_

The regret hit her almost the moment that her head hit the pillow. Her orgasm was still coursing through her but she felt awful. Her breathing was still heavy and her toes were still tingling but she needed to get out of here. She needed some fresh air, a drink, and a shower. And she needed the exquisite, naked woman lying beside her to leave.

She started to slip out of the bed when a hand grabbed her wrist to stop her.

"Hey," Brittany whispered as she shifted to press her face against Santana's neck. "That was incredible." She placed a soft kiss under the brunette's jaw. "Like really incredible."

"Yeah, it was," Santana agreed after a pause. "It's…uh…it's been a while," she confessed with an awkward chuckle.

"Me too," the blonde agreed with a smile. She traced Santana's collarbone with the tip of her index figure as the other woman settled comfortably on her back again. "And I just couldn't stop thinking about doing it with you. I just couldn't stop thinking about you naked, sweaty, and breathless beneath me." She placed a series of kisses down Santana's throat before she pulled away with a hum. "I'm sorry, my willpower has never been that good." Her hand snaked up to the brunette's face and she cupped her jaw before she leaned down to kiss her again.

"Mine is usually stellar," the Latina laughed breathlessly. She tangled her hand in Brittany's golden hair and tugged her down further. "So, this should be classified as…?"

Brittany smirked as they kissed again. "This would be a moment of weakness."

Santana tangled their legs together as Brittany moved on top of her. "And what would this be?" She asked with a teasing smile.

She hummed again, this time with a devilish expression. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."

* * *

"Hey Santana," Artie called softly. "Lunch is here."

She snapped out of her inappropriate trip down memory lane and excitedly hopped to her feet. "Awesome! Conference room?" He nodded so she followed him out of his office and down the hallway. Puck and Kitty were already digging in and as she sat down, she pulled Kitty's notepad closer to her. "Any progress, Wilde?" She questioned.

"Sorta," the blonde answered after taking a bite from her taco. "It's just that one thing keeps bothering me."

Santana arched an eyebrow as Artie passed her two tacos and a Diet Coke. "What's that?"

"Well, Artie accessed the White House server so we know exactly who came and went the date that Mike Chang gave us so that's who we've been focusing on."

"And?" Santana prompted.

"And the Chief of Staff called you to clean up the mess, and used it as a window to ask you to run the President's re-election campaign," Kitty continued.

Santana leaned forward in interest. She could see where Kitty was going with this and she had to admit that it was something that she had never considered.

Santana was silent in her thinking so Artie was left to pose the question, "What's your theory, Kitty?"

"My theory," she drawled, "is that we've been thinking that the White House leak could be anyone except for three people: Will Schuester, President Evans, and the First Lady."

Santana knew that she had hired this girl for a reason, because she was in too deep to have made that connection. But it was so plausible. Why not create a little low-key, no harm scandal to get her back on the team? The whole lovechild in Tennessee had been fishy after all. This was a freakin' Republican administration for God's sake!

She furrowed her brow in deep thought as she picked at her lunch and the other three talked about the new development without her. She really needed to organize her thoughts before she verbally commented on it.

A feeling of deception slowly enveloped her as she processed what it could mean if the case that they were working on was just a lure. She would certainly feel duped and played, and betrayed. They were three people that she trusted, and she didn't trust easily.

The ways that she would feel betrayed by Brittany were obvious and she didn't need to dwell on them. But when she thought of Will and Sam her emotions got a lot more complex. She had known Will for years. She had been a young lawyer at Holliday & Corcoran when she had been given the task, a personal favour Holly had called it, of representing one Will Schuester in a petition for divorce. She probably wouldn't have this office or her client list, or heaps of success and respect in the political sphere of Washington D.C. if she hadn't met Will Schuester. He had mentored her and guided her in a lot of ways; he had helped her to see her true potential and how her talents and skills could be used the most effectively. He cared for her like a father, or that's what she had always believed. He wasn't malicious or conniving, but he was known to have a trick up his sleeve every now and then. Sometimes he couldn't help but let himself get sucked into the vicious political atmosphere around him, but was he really capable of doing this to _her_?

Deep down, where she kept her most private feelings, she didn't believe that he was, and she didn't think that Sam was either. She believed in him, and she believed that he always meant what he said. He practiced what he preached, and that was rare in an elite politician. If she thought of Schue as a father figure, then Sam was her goofy older brother. They had pulled all-nighters together going over speeches and talking points, they had played pool and drank together to unwind, she had vetted his jokes and teased him about his impressions. They had spent hours upon hours together while she had worked on his campaign and served in his administration. She really felt like she knew him. And he had seemed so genuinely upset when she had first been told that the First Lady may be having an affair.

She just wasn't willing to believe it. He couldn't do that to her, not after all that she had done for him. She had gotten him the White House. He would have given up if it hadn't been for her. He wouldn't have had the confidence nor the motivation to finish the campaign strong if she hadn't taken it upon herself to make him see that he could do it.

* * *

 _The Evans Family Home, Nashville – 4 Years Ago_

Santana took a deep breath before she stepped onto the basketball court and watched Sam shoot free throw after free throw. She had been informed by both Brittany and Will that they had seen Sam leave the house with a basketball under his arm and apparently that was a very bad thing. She had looked at them like they were acting ridiculous, which they totally were, but then they had explained that Sam only played basketball by himself when something was really bothering him, and he always did it at least once before an election day. She had volunteered to talk to him, mostly because she wasn't afraid to answer whatever questions were on his mind.

"I hope you're not here to challenge me in one-on-one," he called as he kept his eyes on the hoop, "because you're not exactly dressed for it."

She looked down at her tight navy blue dress and heels. "Lucky for you," she quipped.

He chuckled and it threw off his rhythm for the next shot. He quickly grabbed the rebound and dribbled the ball as he turned towards her. "Did they send you out here?"

"Yup," she answered quickly. "They're worried you're upset about something and since I have a pretty large disregard for other people's feelings, I was the logical choice." He gently passed her the ball and she took an awkward, yet successful, shot. She threw both of her hands up in the air in triumph and sent Sam a smug smirk. "I'm a natural baller obviously."

Sam threw his head back in laughter before he ran to retrieve the ball. He dribbled it slowly, but skillfully, as he walked towards her. "My Dad gave me my first real basketball when I was three. He told me I would play college ball when I was nine. Basketball was always so easy; it came so naturally. I've always known where I stood in basketball. Not like politics. Politics is nothing like basketball," he finished with a frown.

"This analogy is kinda going over my head, I got to college by being a mathlete and the captain of the debate team."

He tilted his head in surprise. "Really? I would have pegged you for a cheerleader."

"Not in a million years," she scoffed. "But back to the point, so basketball was always a sure thing for you and politics isn't, okay, so what?"

"I just can't remember when it happened," he shrugged. "When I went from being just a ball player at UNC to a guy running for state senator. And who the hell decided that I should run for President?" He laughed to himself.

"Do you think you'll be a good President?" She asked bluntly.

He didn't answer her. He just took another shot.

"Well the people at that town hall last night sure believe it," she said softly.

There had been a town hall last night in D.C., one that the Anderson camp had practically begged for after his mediocre showings in the three debates, but it had gone even better than Santana and Will had anticipated. They had gone over his stances on foreign policy, gun control, education, women's health, LGBT rights, and everything else that could be questioned. But then someone in the audience had asked a question about the military and Sam had gone off of her and Will's carefully crafted script. But it had actually worked for him. He had been considerate and heartfelt, and painfully honest. He had told a story about the first time that he had been deployed and about how scared he had been, and because of that he would consider every military decision very carefully because he knew exactly what it was like to be a patriotic, but scared, 21-year-old. Santana had been impressed, and had decided not to yell at him for forgetting his main talking points because she had no doubt that those comments had won some votes.

"Do _you_ think I'll be a good President?" He retorted.

Santana sighed, obviously he wanted to hear what she thought of him, not everybody else. "I wouldn't still be working on this campaign if I didn't think that," she told him sternly. "I am going to vote for you, you know?"

He raised an eyebrow and his mouth twitched upwards into a grin. "Even though you're a Democrat?"

She nodded in the affirmative. "Even though I'm a Democrat."

He chuckled before he sunk another basket. "Don't worry, I won't tell."

"Now pass me the ball," she demanded. "I'm feelin' lucky."

He laughed again as he bounced the ball to her. "Bring your A-game, Lopez."

* * *

Maybe it was her flurry of thoughts and emotions that sent her to the Hay-Adams Hotel later that night. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about what Kitty had said and she knew that she couldn't stay in the office, and she couldn't go home.

So naturally, her feet carried her to wherever Brittany was. She went to the front desk, asked if Britney Spears (Brittany's cheeky, favourite pseudonym) had checked in, and proceeded to the room number that she had been given. She saw Ryder standing stoically nearby and she avoided eye contact with him as she knocked on the door.

The door slowly opened and Brittany looked at her with a happy sigh and a smile. "Hi."

"Hi," she responded after a pause.

The blonde pushed the door open further and invited Santana in with a wave of her hand. "Are you okay?" She asked as she closed the door. "You seem a little upset."

Santana didn't say anything as she paced the room.

"Tell me," she persisted softly. "I want to know what's bothering you."

The brunette bristled at Brittany's tone of voice. She knew that it wasn't intentional, but Brittany was using the same tone of voice that Santana herself used when she was trying to get a particularly vulnerable client to open up to her. It was the voice that Brittany used that made Santana feel like she was being _handled_ , and it agitated her.

"I can't believe I'm here," Santana finally responded. She sighed loudly as she ran a hand through her dark hair and she turned her head to see that Brittany had taken a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I can," Brittany responded quickly.

Santana scoffed on reflex. "You don't know me so stop acting like you do."

The First Lady just smiled softly as she crossed her legs. "But I do know you," she stated matter-of-factly. "You like to think that you're all dark and mysterious, and keep people at arms' length because you're just _so_ bitchy, and maybe you are exactly that to some people, but not to me. I know you and I get you," she smiled. "You're stubborn and you're brilliant, and you're judgmental and kind-hearted. You're full of fire but you're soft around the edges, and I love you."

Santana closed her eyes and ran another hand through her hair as she too sat down on the bed. She purposefully left a sizeable space between her and Brittany. "Don't say things like that," she sighed.

"What? I can't tell you that I love you?" The First Lady asked with a somewhat playful smile.

The brunette shook her head and croaked, "No, because it hurts too much. God, it hurts to look at you, Britt."

Brittany frowned as she reached across and gently grasped Santana's chin. "I love looking at you," she whispered. She turned Santana's head enough to meet her eyes and sent her a reassuring smile. "Hey there."

"Hi," Santana breathed.

They leaned into each other and the speed at which their lips joined was almost painfully slow. Brittany cupped her cheek and captured her plump bottom lip between her own. The space between them was gradually diminishing and although Santana wasn't touching her with anything besides her lips, it was clear that she was hanging on for dear life. Soon both of her hands were in Brittany's hair and the blonde was lying on her back.

Brittany held Santana to her with both hands clutched in her blouse and tightly entwined their legs. She couldn't suppress the moan that escaped the back of her throat. It had been so long. "San," she gasped as she tried to yank her shirt out of her skirt. "Hurry up. I want your fingers inside me."

Santana took the opportunity to tease her. She so often felt completely out of control with Brittany that it was nice to have the upper hand for once. She smirked as she brushed her nose along the blonde's and nipped at her bottom lip. "Impatient?" She questioned tauntingly.

"Always," Brittany rasped. "Don't make me beg."

Santana continued to smirk as she stood up and stripped down to her underwear. "Maybe that's exactly what I want."

The blonde licked her lips as she propped herself up on her elbows. "Please," she purred. "It's been too long." She gracefully propelled herself forward and grasped Santana's hips with both hands. "Please," she repeated before placing a quick kiss on her stomach. "Please."

Santana softly swiped Brittany's bang to one side before cupping her cheek. She brushed her thumb across soft, pale skin with a smile. "You're so beautiful."

God, those eyes alone did things to her.

"Come here," Brittany murmured as she slipped a finger underneath the New York shaped necklace around Santana's neck and tugged.

* * *

After their breathing was under control, Brittany stretched her limbs like a contented cat and curled up against Santana's side. She placed a kiss on her bare skin, still shining with sweat, before she whispered, "I missed you."

"I missed you too," the brunette admitted as she wound a hand in Brittany's long, silky hair.

"You never come to visit anymore," she pouted.

"Because I don't work for the White House anymore, Britt. I'm busy. I have clients. I just hired a new lawyer," Santana shared.

"Are you going to work on the campaign?" She asked quietly, and at this point she had started to trace circles on her lover's abdomen. "We all want you back."

Santana forced her eyes shut and sighed loudly. "Britt, I—"

The First Lady quickly surged forward and interrupted her with a panicked kiss. "Okay, you don't want to talk about it. That's fine." She kissed her again before she repeated in a murmur, "That's fine. We don't have to talk about it. We don't have to talk about anything." She shifted up onto her hands so that she could hold herself above Santana. "Stay the night?" She asked in a whisper as she brushed their noses together.

"I shouldn't," she replied instantly. "It's a bad idea. And it's stupid, what if someone sees or snaps a picture or something?"

Brittany raised an eyebrow. "With the Secret Service outside? Ryder is right outside the door."

Santana huffed. Another reminder that their relationship was far from normal.

Brittany brushed their noses together again. She could practically see the thoughts running through Santana's mind. "Stop thinking," she enunciated slowly. "Just be here with me. Please."

She should go. She _needed_ to go. Yet there were so many reasons why she couldn't just get up and leave. That list of reasons started with the eyes and the pout, and the naked body above hers, but they ended with ones much more serious. Brittany was right about what she had said earlier; Brittany knew her in a way that nobody else did. When she was with Brittany she felt like someone was finally _seeing_ her. The very last reason, the trump card, was that she was hopelessly, recklessly in love and being with Brittany again after two years felt like she had been drowning and now she was finally coming up for air.

Brittany had always felt like a breath of fresh air to her.

So she tangled both of her hands in blonde hair and pulled the woman on top of her down for a needy, passionate kiss.

* * *

 **A/N: Please review! :)**

 **The next chapter will be different as it will be almost entirely from Brittany's perspective!**


	7. The Dancer

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, again. This chapter was incredibly fun to write, it just took a while to come together because of my schedule. I had the Brittany POV chapter planned from Day 1 so I hope that you like it as much as I do.**

 **Some chapter music for you: Shut Up and Dance - Walk the Moon (even before Heather danced to it on DWTS), What Can I Say - Brandi Carlile, and a Glee classic: I Wanna Dance With Somebody.**

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – The Dancer**

"Madam First Lady?"

Brittany turned her head from where she had been looking out the window and smiled at her Chief of Staff. "Yes, Marley?"

"You have a meeting with Unique Adams from _TIME_ in an hour. I just wanted to remind you."

"Thank you, Marley. I'll be ready."

The petite brunette held her agenda tight to her chest. "Can I get you anything else, ma'am? Some tea maybe?"

"Can I get a cup of coffee actually, Marley? I didn't sleep very well last night."

Marley looked surprised but she nodded anyway. The First Lady didn't ask for coffee very often; the entire White House staff had gotten used to her 'my body is my temple' lifestyle. "Sure, ma'am, coming right up."

Marley left her office and Brittany resumed looking out the window and out onto the vast White House lawn. She always felt drained, and a little agitated, when Sam was out of the country on business and she was left behind in Washington. The staff treated her with more care and Will Schuester often popped in and out of her office to gauge what she was thinking and feeling, as if she was going to do something extreme just because her husband wasn't in the White House. She understood that it was important for everyone, especially her and the Vice-President, not to do anything to detract from what the President was doing abroad. All roads lead to the President. She got that, and she didn't need to be treated like a child, especially after almost four years in this position.

She enjoyed being the First Lady. She actually liked the job. It was tough and it was demanding, but it was so rewarding.

She wasn't going to do anything to screw that up. Not intentionally at least.

And she didn't consider Santana Lopez to be a screw up. Santana Lopez was inevitable. She had known it from the very first time that she had laid eyes on her. The Latina had stormed in and had told them exactly what was wrong with Sam's campaign. She had been matter-of-fact, she hadn't minced words, and she had breathed life into not only the campaign and the staff, but her as well.

Meeting Santana had felt like a colossal shift on her view and place in the world, like a change in the Earth's axis. How could she return to her old orbit now? That was the question that she had been asking herself for quite some time. How was she supposed to continue on like everything was normal? What even was her _normal_? From the outside looking in, her normal was being one of the most powerful and influential women in the world. Only she knew that she was depressed and pining. She and Sam rarely spent time alone together, one of them was almost always in bed asleep before the other, but their problems were bigger than that. They were also bigger than Santana. Despite everything that Sam had given her, she couldn't remember the last time that she was truly happy with him.

There was another knock on the door and it was Marley, this time with coffee and Unique Adams trailing behind her.

"Good morning Madam First Lady."

Brittany stood with a bright smile. "Ms. Adams, nice to see you again. How are you?"

"I want to thank you so much for agreeing to do this interview."

Marley handed her the cup of hot coffee and she and Unique sat on Brittany's favourite sofa in the room as they made pleasant small talk. People in the media always told her that she made them feel comfortable and she really didn't mind interviews when she had a say in the questions. She absolutely loathed answering questions about what she was wearing, as if one of her most valuable assets was her wardrobe. But she didn't mind most others topic. She always struggled not to say too much, or at least that's what Will told her. Her candor made him uncomfortable and she knew he lived in constant fear that she would say the wrong thing. He had only agreed to this interview because he got final edit.

That bugged her. It was her story. Not his. And not Sam's. This was just for her.

She was center stage again.

Unique reached for her tape recorder and casually placed it on the coffee table beside them. "Would you like to begin?"

Brittany nodded with a happy smile. "Sure. _Where_ do you want to begin?"

They began with the idea of legacy. The legacy of the Office of the First Lady and her place in that important piece of history. They talked about past first ladies and their causes and influence, and then they talked about her work in the arts and education. She worked to increase public education funding, draw attention to child wellbeing, and she supported the arts. They talked about her fundraisers, and state diners, and television appearances. They talked about everything that she enjoyed talking about until the real questions began.

"Let's talk about your husband. Was it love at first sight? Do you even believe in love at first sight?"

Brittany glanced down at her skirt and picked at a non-existent thread. "Love at first sight," she repeated quietly. "I don't know if it was love but it was definitely magnetic right from the beginning."

* * *

 _The Campaign Trail, On the way to Denver – 4 Years Ago_

"Hey," Brittany whispered as she slid into the empty seat next to the brunette. She kept her voice low not to be discreet, but because everyone else on the bus was asleep. All of the campaign workers were asleep, except for Santana, as usual. "What are you working on?"

"Tomorrow night's speech," Santana murmured back, "because it's gotta be good."

Brittany chuckled under her breath at her intensity, her eyes never once left the paper in her hands. It gave Brittany the time to look at her features without feeling like she was uncomfortably staring. She had a terrible urge to trace her finger down the slope of Santana's nose and across her cheekbones, and down to her lovely lips. Lips that she had already kissed. Simply because she had wanted to. How incredibly stupid and reckless was that?

She had a husband that was running for President of the United States. She had a job to do and a goal to focus on. She wasn't supposed to go around kissing people, especially not gorgeous female campaign managers.

"You're left-handed," she finally spoke to break the silence.

The brunette raised her head and faced her with a furrowed brow. "Yeah?"

Brittany just smiled, completely enamoured by this woman that she barely knew. "I've never noticed."

A smirk pulled at the corner of Santana's mouth and she waved her left hand, still holding a pen. "Well I am."

"Left-handed people are weird," she joked.

Santana rolled her eyes but played along. "You right-handed people are so _normal_."

Brittany laughed and pressed her cheek against the headrest. Her entire body was angled towards the other woman, a sure sign that she was enthralled. "You make me feel young again," she confessed. "My feet ache but I think I could dance for hours." Her hand slowly inched forward on the armrest until her pinky bumped Santana's. "Do you know what I mean? I'm not much of a speechwriter."

She watched Santana gulp before she responded. "Yeah, unfortunately I think I do."

"I haven't wanted to dance like that in a very long time."

* * *

Brittany's foot tapped against the plush carpet like only someone who had made a living out of moving could, and she realized that she had gotten distracted. "Sorry," she apologized with a charming, slightly embarrassed smile. "Sometimes I just…" She stopped talking and finished her sentence by waving her hand in a flying away gesture. "It is not a reflection of your questions. I just sometimes have the attention span of a…of a…"

"A dancer?" Unique supplied with a grin.

The blonde laughed with a tilt of her head. "Yeah, something like that."

"Do you still dance? Do you still find the time in your schedule to dance?"

Brittany nodded slowly. "I do. Not as much as I wish I could, obviously, but sometimes I work it into my gym schedule, or use it as a way to relax."

Dance was such an important part of her that she had to include it in her life any way that she could. Dance was her natural gift, something she had never struggled through unlike several aspects of her early education. Dance had been her passion, her career, and her livelihood, and losing it as a term that so easily defined her had been difficult. She had liked the box that "dancer" put her in and now that she didn't fit in it so easily she tried to make it a part of her daily routine. It was a part of her national initiative as First Lady and it was something that she intended to pass on.

But sometimes dancing made her feel isolated and lonely.

"But sometimes I miss having a partner," she added after a beat. "I was always better with a partner."

Unique tilted her head in a way that was reporter speak for "would you care to elaborate?"

"Sam and I used to dance together a lot, if you can believe that," she laughed. "He's actually pretty good. He used to take me out dancing a lot when we first started dating. Dancing is always more fun when it's with someone you love."

* * *

 _Evans Campaign Headquarters, Nashville – 4 Years Ago_

"Come on. Come on. Come on," Sebastian muttered under his breath.

Brittany knew that Santana and her staff were doing their best to remain positive and optimistic, but anxiety was rolling off of Sebastian Smythe in waves and she knew exactly why. CNN was getting ready to predict election results in Ohio, and no Republican had ever won the White House without winning Ohio.

They had campaigned heavily in Ohio. They had targeted Ohio. They _needed_ Ohio.

"Calm down," Quinn Fabray chastised. "We have our numbers and our projections. This should be ours."

Quinn outwardly projected confidence but her eyes lacked the fierceness that Brittany had become accustomed to.

She could tell that Santana was on edge as well. The Latina was standing on the other side of the room, quietly chatting with newly hired statistical analyst and overall tech guy, Artie Abrams.

Brittany finally got out of her seat, she hated waiting, and approached Santana cautiously. She gently placed a hand on her shoulder and the brunette tensed, an imperceptible shift to anyone else around her but the blonde recognized it for what it was. Santana still had a nervous energy around her. Their one night together in Denver hadn't solved anything. It was meant to be cathartic, a quick release, a one off, and it was clearly anything but.

"Can we put some music on or something? Your staff is bringing down the mood."

Santana turned her head and furrowed her brow. Brittany understood the expression, the request seemed so ridiculous and out of place on election night coming from a woman that could potentially be the First Lady of the United States in several hours. But music was comforting and familiar to her.

Before Santana could answer her, their attention all turned to Sebastian as he leapt out of his chair and whooped.

"Ohio is ours!" He declared ecstatically.

Brittany quickly looked towards the large television in the room and sure enough, there on the screen was the shape of the state of Ohio coloured in red.

She felt, more than heard, Santana breathe a sigh of relief beside her. "We got Ohio," she exhaled.

"We got Ohio," Brittany repeated. She looked down at Artie with a bright smile. "Now I think that calls for some music."

Artie smiled back at her and an upbeat song quickly filled the room.

"Dance with me," she requested as she reached for Santana's hand.

Santana hesitated and Sebastian quickly stepped in. He grabbed Brittany's outstretched hand and twirled her around.

"The First Lady of the United States just asked you to dance with her," he grinned. "I don't think that's an offer you can turn down."

Santana finally smiled and joined them on their makeshift dance floor.

* * *

Brittany managed to stay focused for the rest of the interview. She fidgeted a tad – maybe that coffee had been a bad idea. But she told some of her best never before used interview stories about Sam and their family, and she talked about what she hoped the legacy of his first term would be ("bipartisan cooperation" because that was a politically friendly answer). She painted the picture of an intelligent, bubbly, compassionate woman in love, which she was just not with her husband anymore, and she painted it well.

And yet she was taken aback by the final question.

"What separates you from your husband?"

"Excuse me?" She questioned in confusion.

"Well no one underplays your effect on the election," Unique explained, "the upward swings after interviews and appearances and news cycles speak for themselves. So what do you think sets you apart as a political entity?"

Brittany considered that question thoughtfully. "Well we're not truly _apart_ are we? We're intertwined. We're married and we're a team. We're a package deal, and people are always going to think of us that way, aren't they? Once you're the President you're always the President, right?" She joked. "I will always be attached to that moniker."

The First Lady pursed her lips and watched Unique Adams reach for her tape recorder before she spoke again. "I'm not sure if I'm content with that answer," she confessed.

The reporter raised her head and smiled, pleasantly surprised by the level of honesty. "Would you like to add something?"

"I'm not happy with how dependent that sounded. I would rather say something like 'although I am an independent woman with ideas and feelings, and political ideals, my husband and I are on the same path. We can't be thought of as separate right now.' That's better, I think," she said more to herself. She looked at Unique with a smile before she added, "My husband and I are separate in many ways, of course we are, but we can't be _thought of_ as separate. That's important to the American people."

She still wasn't completely satisfied with that answer but it was better than her first attempt. She had been thinking of the idea of her and Sam as _separate_ for a long time and she still didn't have an answer. A separated President? A _divorced_ President? That was crazy, even by Democrat standards, but for a Republican? Unheard of. How did she deal with being separate when she still cared for him, and believed in him, and wanted him to succeed? She had been trying to come up with an answer to that question for a very long time. She had searched even more desperately for an answer since meeting Santana Lopez.

* * *

 _The White House, Washington, D.C. – 4 Years Ago_

"Hey," she purred as she crept up on Santana from behind.

"Did you know Sam was going to offer me this job?" The brunette asked as she stood in the doorway to the Communications Director's office.

Brittany could hear the edge in Santana's voice so she gently pushed her inside the room and closed the door behind them. "No," she answered honestly, "and if you think I manipulated him into keeping you around you're wrong."

She sighed and ran a hand through her dark hair. "Sorry," she muttered in embarrassment. "I just didn't see this continuing after the election and I'm not sure what it means."

" _This_ meaning working for Sam or _this_ as in us?" Brittany asked curiously.

Santana shrugged and replied honestly, "Both, I suppose. I've never really done either before."

"Well you're really good at your job, that's a given, and now you have an office in the White House. Isn't that exciting?"

Santana walked backwards until she was leaning against the edge of the pristine, empty desk. "Yes, of course it is. When you work in D.C. the White House is like all that you think about. I'll have more resources than I'll even know what to do with."

Brittany could hear the uncertainty dangling at the end of that sentence so she supplied it. "But?"

"But how am I supposed to stay away from you?" Santana asked as she closed her eyes.

Brittany took the opportunity to move closer until the front of their bodies were touching. "Well there's an easy solution to that problem," she whispered, "you don't."

Santana opened her eyes and scoffed, "So I'm going to work for the President and bang his wife on the side?"

Brittany frowned. "Well why do you have to say it like that?"

"Because that's what we're doing!"

"Well, if we're just fucking then it should be easy to stop," Brittany challenged. "You could do that with anyone and keep it a secret."

She took a deliberate step backwards and Santana reflexively grabbed her hips. "No, don't," she pleaded.

"Then stop treating me like this doesn't mean anything to you."

Santana looked at her, really looked at her, and Brittany knew that it wasn't her intention to be dismissive and callous. She did care about her; she just didn't know how to express it. Years of being completely career driven and deeply buried in the closet had obviously taken their toll.

"You know it's not like that," she finally spoke. "It's just that this isn't easy for me."

"It's not easy for me either," Brittany shot back. "I don't enjoy cheating on my husband. Taking vows did mean something to me. Things between us are just so different now. We're not the same, either of us."

"But you can't abandon him," Santana stated matter-of-factly.

"And neither can you," Brittany answered with a sad smile.

* * *

The rest of her day was relatively mundane after an interview with _TIME_. She looked at some paperwork and read some reports, and Marley spoke to her about some wardrobe updates, and that was pretty much her day.

She was tidying away a few things on her desk when a knock sounded on her door. "Come in!" She called without looking up.

She heard the door open and close, and when it wasn't accompanied by a cheery greeting she furrowed her brow in confusion. Marley was quiet but she wasn't impolite. So Brittany raised her head and was mildly surprised to see Will Schuester. She was surprised only in the sense that she was caught off guard by the time, she was not surprised that he was checking in on her. "Short lease," she muttered to herself.

"How was the interview?" He asked as he slipped his hands into his pockets and edged towards her desk.

"It was fine." Her answer was clipped and she didn't care.

"Just fine?" He probed.

She simply nodded and finished toying with the things on her desk. She raised her head and offered a tight lipped smile. "Yup, fine. I don't see any reason why you'll be unhappy with it."

"That wasn't what I was asking," he sighed.

"Yes, it was," she corrected quickly. She walked around her desk and grabbed her blazer off the back of the couch from where she had discarded it at some point in the day. "Anyway, I'm done for the day. Are you done for the day?" She asked with an arched eyebrow.

He ignored her question and posed one of his own. "Any plans for this evening?"

She shook her head. "Nothing worthwhile I'm sure."

He waited a moment before he said, "I know what you're doing. _Again_."

The First Lady's shoulders instinctually hunched and her eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?" She questioned as she pulled on her blazer.

"Come on, Brittany," he chuckled. "You know playing dumb doesn't work on me. I know what you've been doing," he repeated. "And it's not doing the campaign a favour."

"Stop following me," she demanded angrily. "Following the First Lady is not part of your job description and it's certainly above your pay grade."

"My job is to protect the President," he snapped back.

She huffed indignantly. "When it suits you," she emphasized. She turned on her heel to leave her office but he grabbed her by the wrist. She reacted quickly and pulled herself out of his grasp. "Don't touch me, Will!"

He held up his hands defensively and offered her an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, but you're being unreasonable."

"Unreasonable," she repeated slowly. "Is that the best word?"

"I'm sure I could come up with a few more," he quipped maliciously.

She rolled her eyes and didn't allow his petty comment to get to her. "I think this conversation is over," she stated with as much authority as she could muster.

Will took a deep breath before he spoke again. "I think that if you intend on being stubborn then this conversation is just beginning."

"Goodnight Will," she declared before she breezed out of the room.

* * *

 **A/N: Brittany and Will hate each other and I love it haha. Please review! :)**


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